"No," she said, putting one hand to her forehead and offering me the other, "you wounded my pride only. I beg you, Aleo, remember that I have nothing, that I live on your gifts, and that the thought of my dependent state humiliates me. You are kind and generous to me, I know. You lavish attentions on me, you cover me with jewels, you overwhelm me with your luxury and your magnificence; but for you I should have died in some paupers' hospital, or should be confined in a madhouse. I know all that. But remember, Bustamente, that you have done it all in spite of me, that you took me in half-dead, and that you succored me when I had not the slightest desire to be succored; remember that I wanted to die, and that you passed many nights at my pillow, holding my hands in yours to prevent me from killing myself; remember that I refused for a long time your protection and your benefactions, and that, if I accept them to-day, it is half from weakness and discouragement, half from affection and gratitude to you, who ask me on your knees not to spurn them. Yours is the noblest rôle, my friend, I know it well. But am I to blame because you are kind? Can I be seriously reproached for debasing myself when, alone and desperate, I confide myself to the noblest heart on earth?" "My beloved," I said, pressing her to my heart, "you reply most convincingly to the vile insults of the miserable wretches who have misrepresented you. But why do you say this to me? Do you think that you need to justify yourself in the eyes of Bustamente for the happiness you have bestowed upon him--the only happiness he has ever enjoyed in his life? It is for me to justify myself, if I can, for I am the one who has done wrong. I know how stubbornly your pride and your despair resisted me; I am not likely ever to forget it. When I assume a tone of authority with you, I am a madman whom you must pardon, for my passion for you disturbs my reason and vanquishes all my strength of mind. Forgive me, Juliette, and forget a moment of anger. Alas! I am unskilful in winning love. I have a natural roughness of manner which is unpleasant to you. I wound you when I am beginning to cure you, and I often destroy in one hour the work of many days." "No, no, let us forget this quarrel," she interposed, kissing me. "For the little pain you cause me, I cause you a hundred times as much. You are sometimes imperious; my grief is always cruel. Do not believe, however, that it is incurable. Your kindness and your love will conquer it at last. I should have a most ungrateful heart if I did not accept the hope that you point out to me. We will talk of marriage another time; perhaps you will induce me to consent to it. However, I confess that I dread that species of servitude consecrated by all laws and all prejudices; it is honorable, but it is indissoluble." "Still another cruel remark, Juliette! Are you afraid, pray, to belong to me forever?"